


absolution

by haveloved



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Kissing, M/M, Post-Star Trek Beyond
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-01
Updated: 2021-02-01
Packaged: 2021-03-12 06:55:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29131401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/haveloved/pseuds/haveloved
Summary: Jim had guided him to bed, lay him on his side (he’d taught the kid something after all), lay face to face with him in the darkness because--he could see it in his eyes--he didn’t want to leave Leonard alone. And when Leonard had slurredwas my fault, all of it,he’d listened.
Relationships: James T. Kirk/Leonard "Bones" McCoy
Comments: 12
Kudos: 56
Collections: Bones McCoy H/C





	absolution

**Author's Note:**

  * For [afterthenovels](https://archiveofourown.org/users/afterthenovels/gifts).



> Lord it feels weird posting this. I've been a lurker in McKirk fandom since 2009, fading in and out as the fancy struck me, and uh, since the world exploded Star Trek has been my main source of entertainment and the fancy has struck me pretty hard. I never thought I'd be writing my own McKirk fics! But I've been playing around the past few days and arrived at this little bit of something, so here it is.
> 
> What sparked this was afterthenovels (Tumblr and ao3) giving me a handful of physical affection prompts from a Tumblr prompt meme, one of which was _chasing someone's lips after they pull away._ That action ended up being almost incidental to the story but I also hope it gels with the hurt/comfort feel.
> 
> **content warnings:** Brief references to drunkenness and a loose allusion to suicidal ideation. Survivor's guilt and references to euthanasia figure more heavily, as already established in _Star Trek V: The Final Frontier_ and the AOS films. Apparently the recentish AOS novels established David's death as going differently in this universe but, um, I'm ignoring that reality and substituting my own because these boys need to talk about their grief over their fathers. Rated Teen for the alcohol references and heavier subject matter.

They're lying in a tangle of bedsheets and comforter, the cost, Leonard thinks wryly, of sleeping with Jim Kirk. Most nights Leonard sleeps like the dead, exhausted from long shifts in sickbay or away missions that generally feel like herding accident-prone cats. Jim, however, is as restless in sleep as he is on the bridge, tossing and kicking and (Leonard likes this best) flinging an arm over him and drawing close.

By the time Jim presses his lips to Leonard's neck and murmurs a sleepy "Bones?", he's well into thinking about how damn long they've known each other. When they met he'd been drunk off his ass and barely able to stand the shuttle ride to the Academy. He would have laughed in the face of anyone suggesting he'd one day find solace in watching the stars outside the window of the _Enterprise_ , that the battered kid he'd slunk down beside that first day would be sharing his bed.

"Go back to sleep, kid," he murmurs, threading his fingers gently through Jim's hair, and Jim huffs a refusal.

"'s tomorrow, isn't it?"

"Not tomorrow if it's today now."

"Look at you being a smartass." When Jim opens his eyes it drags Leonard's attention away from the stars, the black of night suddenly so much less interesting when the deep blue of Jim's eyes is on offer. "'s your dad's birthday."

Hearing it said out loud still causes a knot in his gut, made better only by Jim skimming a hand soothingly over his skin beneath the tangle of sheets. "You remember?" he murmurs feebly, and Jim laughs.

"Bones, I greet five hundred crew members by name every day. I can remember one birthday."

_For someone you never met._ But he's hardly surprised. They have their quiet rituals and last year it was the two of them marking a birthday together on Leonard's own insistence, whisky in Jim's quarters, Jim's thoughts heavy with portent and sorrow.

Things have changed so much since Yorktown he's dizzy with it sometimes. The loneliness of the long nights while the _Enterprise_ was rebuilt, nights on solid ground where Leonard had always preferred being, dammit, had burrowed deep into both of them. So many dead, the _Enterprise_ destroyed, the two of them among what felt like the few still standing.

The last time his father’s birthday had rolled around was one of those nights. Jim had been out tending to something, only swung by Leonard’s quarters late, and by that time he’d been well and truly drunk but not insensible. It was rare--not unheard of, but rare--Jim was the one of them to worry. But he’d heard it in Jim’s voice that night, felt it in Jim’s hands guiding him into a cold shower, which he could have told the kid was completely ineffectual to sober someone up but had brought him back to his body just the same.

He hadn’t meant to tell Jim everything. Not at first. He’d stumbled onto that shuttle years before determined to take the misery that had overtaken his life and ended his marriage to Jocelyn to his own damn grave, probably besides David’s. But JIm’s thoughts of George on that birthday of his, that conversation tinged with whisky and their gazes steady on each other, had made his own brain itch with the memories of David he’d suppressed for years. Jim had guided him to bed, lay him on his side (he’d taught the kid something after all), lay face to face with him in the darkness because--he could see it in his eyes--he didn’t want to leave Leonard alone. And when Leonard had slurred _was my fault, all of it_ , he’d listened.

And argued. He’d always known Jim was too damn smart by half, but he hadn’t expected Jim to understand _pyrrhoneuritis_ and his mumbled summations of the obsessive thoughts that had crowded his brain for years--the path to the cure he’d missed, by fucking weeks. The alcohol, the death in the air those days at Yorktown, had slipped him back into the loop (the noose) he’d managed to stumble out of somehow, years before. But Jim hadn’t listened to his insistences, had murmured _it wasn’t your fault, Bones_ and _you took away the pain, like he asked_ and _he’d forgive you._ And sometime in the next few hours _he’d forgive you_ turned into _I forgive you_ and somehow absolution from Jim was the only thing that mattered, even if he knew it didn’t make any fucking sense.

Now that he thinks about it it isn’t much of a shock Jim remembers after all. His father’s birthday may as well be their anniversary.

Jim’s hand--warmed from resting between the sheets, their bodies--cups his cheek, one callused thumb stroking his jaw. He knows he doesn’t have to speak; lord knows by now they’ve spent more than one anniversary of the _Kelvin_ disaster in silence. Still, the words tumble from him, because he knows Jim will keep them safe.

“He should’ve gotten more time.”

“I know,” Jim says softly, and he does, better than anyone else could.

“They both should have,” Leonard breathes out, a concession to just that, as his own hands start to wander Jim’s skin. He wonders if in that other universe, the one where Jim had a lifetime with George, Jim has the same scars.

When Jim’s lips find his he knows Jim can taste the tears. He knows even more it doesn’t phase Jim in the least, the way it had Jocelyn, the nights his abject misery had driven her from their bed. Jim doesn’t pull away, simply nuzzles the wetness from his cheeks, presses closer when Leonard chases his lips, longing for his warmth even after scant seconds without it.

Their breathing is ragged when they break apart, enough that it takes Jim a minute to regain enough breath to murmur, “ _We_ have time, Bones. I know… I know that’s not enough, but…”

“It’s enough, kid.” He rests his hands low on Jim’s back, pulls him so close Jim is practically draped over him, making up for the chill of the hopelessly tangled insufficient bedclothes. “Try to tell myself they’d want us happy.” To Jim’s own murmured _yeah_ , his lips pressed once more to Leonard’s neck, he nuzzles his nose into Jim’s hair and breathes. “I love you, Jim.”

“Love you, Bones. So much.” 

**Author's Note:**

> My late father was a devoted Trek fan and I wish so much I could have started on my own Trek journey with him around, and I deeply appreciate that in his stead my mom, stepdad, and too many friends to name have listened to my wild enthusiasm. The first McKirk author I can ever remember reading was FFN and AO3's shoreleave and I'm eternally grateful to their work for sparking so much love in my brain and heart. My old friend, Seth, lost his father when we were teens and our experiences sharing our grief over the years have probably influenced my personal depiction of McKirk more than I know. (Also we bought each other AOS Kirk and Spock dolls for high school graduation so this was probably always inevitable.) <3 Thank you so much to Anna for the prompt and to Cait for encouraging me to get my feet wet, and because her OTP meme asks for McKirk sent my brain off spiraling into... fic places. And praise the goddamn lord for the saints who contribute to Memory Alpha, without which I would be curled into a ball sobbing trying to string canon together myself.


End file.
